


over the years

by PoseidonsUnderpants



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Batman's Rogue Gallery, Gen, Gotham, Introspection, POV Outsider, Tumblr Prompt, Unlikely Friendships, mostly follows canon timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6388198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoseidonsUnderpants/pseuds/PoseidonsUnderpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She (all of the rouges, really) had watched them grow, develop, evolve, and had done everything she could do to keep up with them.  Together, they had shaped this city into what it was today—for better or for worse.</em>
</p>
<p>For a Tumblr prompt wondering how the villains feel when the Batfamily's mantles change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	over the years

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [年年月月](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12424563) by [Lalaith_Airfree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaith_Airfree/pseuds/Lalaith_Airfree)



Poison Ivy laughed as one of her super-sized vines smashed through the windows of the bank.

She didn’t really need the money (though it didn’t hurt), but this particular bank had been loaning out money to building companies looking to expand Gotham’s suburb—a project which would destroy what little grassland and forests there were surrounding Gotham. Obviously, she had to intervene.

She cursed to herself as the vines got twisted around themselves (she was new at the whole plant-powers thing, okay?) and focused entirely on them, thinking _untangle untangle untangle._

In fact, her concentration was so intense that she barely saw a flash of yellow in the corner of her eyes. She dismissed it, but instantly regretted it when suddenly she was surrounded by smoke. She started coughing and spluttering, her eyes watered and the vines slumped; motionless without her as the puppeteer.

“Batman!” She accused, though she hadn’t seen him. Ivy didn’t run just yet however—she had only met the Bat a few times before and wanted to get a good look at him at last (for purely professional reasons, of course).

“Not quite, lady!” A youthful voice called from somewhere above. “Though, I have to say, I would look pretty nifty in the Bat-suit, right?”

The smoke cleared and revealed a small boy (about, what, nine? Ten? She wasn’t good with kids) grinning broadly, wearing a bright red tunic with an ‘R’ emblem, a short yellow cape, and, no kidding, _green scaly pants._ With _pixie boots._

She did the only reasonable thing: she burst out laughing, doubling over and slapping her thigh.

“What?” The kid pouted, looking mildly offended.

“Who are _you_ supposed to be? _Bat-Boy?”_ Ivy practically shrieked, then laughed even harder at her own joke.

“No! My name is _Robin,_ stupid.” The boy—Robin—crossed his arms.

“Oh, forgive me, Mr. Robin. And just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Distracting you, _duh.”_

“Wha—?”

She never heard Batman sneak up behind her (didn’t know then that she never would), but she definitely felt it (but only for a second. Although, she had a headache for _days_ from her concussion, and prison pain-killers _sucked_ ).

*

The Penguin took a moment to admire his handiwork. The designs he had drawn for his club were simply marvellous; with a high aviary-like ceiling, busts of eagles reminiscent of Gotham’s numerous gargoyles, and plenty of booths _perfect_ of business deals.

He sighed and flexed his hand, looking up at the birds soaring above him (Gotham Zoo had the most abysmal security he had ever seen). He wasn’t afraid of being disturbed by Batman and the increasingly irritating Robin (although he couldn’t fault the name); he knew Two-Face was planning to rob an art gallery (something about it being its twenty-second anniversary) tonight. That was assured to take up most of the Dynamic Duo’s night.

“My, my, Penguin, it looks to me like you’ve broken and entered into this fine establishment. What are you planning?”

Penguin jumped, his movements crumpling his designs slightly. Standing in front of him was a red-headed woman (actually, at second glance and the tone of her voice, it was probably a teenager) wearing all-black, with a yellow bat-symbol on her chest and a cowl with bat-ears.

“Who are you, child?” If this was some little punk, acting out on a dare or play-pretending as a pre-Halloween gimmick, he would be so very—

“You’d think it’d be obvious …” she complained to herself, “why, I’m Batgirl!”

“Funny.” He snarled, and then reached for his umbrella.

Moving faster than he could clearly see, she threw one of those dastardly ‘Bat-a-rangs’ at his hand, causing him to flinch away from the umbrella.

She grinned, “believe me now?”

He did, though she insisted on showing him just how well-trained she was at the art of arse-kicking personally (kids these days).

*

Killer Croc was not renowned for his brains (why would he be, looking the way he did?), but he wasn’t a complete idiot. Or, y’know blind. Not that blind people were idiots … whatever. Where was he, again?

Right. Not completely inept at seeing what was right in front of him. True, he hadn’t been at the whole super-villain business that long, but you tend to always remember certain things; your mother’s name, your first date, your birthday, the first time Batman and Robin sent you to jail …

And certainly, definitely, _positively,_ remembered something about that last one. Something that didn’t match up with the picture he was seeing now.

“Weren’t you taller?” He asked Robin (he _thinks_ he knows the answer, because Robin’s been a thorn in just about every criminal’s side for almost a _decade_ now, there’s no way he could be this fresh-faced, short, skinny …)

“Weren’t you prettier?” Robin retorted, and, yep, the voice was all wrong—too high (though it had hints of breaking), too accented (this kid sounded like a true Gotham street rat), too … not the same as the real-old-other Robin’s.

Well, if the suit fits and all that. Killer Croc lunged at him, and the kid moved just as quick (though not as graceful) as that first Robin. And, when he felt the power of Batman’s punch to his face, he could tell he was just as loved as the first, maybe.

*

Harley Quinn was wailing dramatically into Poison Ivy’s shoulder as the rest of Batman’s Rouges ignored both her and their poker game (the reason they all said they had gathered for) to gossip (the real reason they had congregated).

“So, is it true there’s a new Robin?” Ivy asked the group.

“Yes. I ran into him the other night. He was out by himself. I would’ve thought, after what happened to the _last_ one …” Mr Freeze trailed off poignantly. Harley sobbed louder (still, no attention was paid to her) as the rouges went quiet for a moment in respect, or something.

“There’s a new girl too, I think. I mean, not another Batgirl, even though _she_ hasn’t been seen in a while as well, but one covered in black. Didn’t catch a name, I was too busy being beaten to a pulp,” Riddler said bitterly.

Penguin nodded in agreement, rubbing at his arm as if this new girl had hit him there again.

“The—the new Robin, he’s, he’s so sweet!” She exclaimed, blinking away her tears and flailing wildly. Ivy ducked out of the way of a stray hand, but Killer Croc wasn’t so fast—good thing it probably hurt her hand more than his arm. “He asked me how I was, what I’d been up ta. He didn’t seem mad when I—when I hit ‘im with ma hammer!”

“He’s as smart as Black-Bat—the new girl—is quiet,” Two-Face stated.

Ivy tugged at a strand of her hair. “God, I’m starting to feel _old._ All these new capes, kid’s dying or growing up—I mean, have you _seen_ Nightwing these days? _Wow!_ ” She fanned herself.

Harley, her previous distraught forgotten (something about Santa not being real), nodded vigorously, swooning as she remembered the last time he had tied her up—before handing her over to the police.

The men didn’t quite seem to agree with the sentiment, however, and Penguin swiftly changed the subject.

“At least the presence of Robin, whoever it may be, will take some of the anger out of Batman’s actions,” he said.

They could all drink to that.

*

Catwoman didn’t usually bring her phone with her when she went out on a burglary, but she was expecting a call from a certain man whose named rhymed with ‘goose’ and like to dress up as a bat, so compromises had to be made (it hadn’t been much of a decision, really).

She could only blame herself when her phone buzzed loudly, alerting a security guard to her presence and forcing her to abandon her hunt.

Thankfully, the guard wasn’t very good at his job (were they ever?), so she could both answer her phone _and_ run for her life (yay for multi-tasking).

“This better be good,” she warned the caller (she didn’t have time to check who it was).

_“Oooh, it is, I promise ya!”_ Harley squealed.

“ _What,_ ” she hissed irritably, though also softened her footsteps so she could hear Harley better.

_“There’s a girl Robin!”_ Harley yelled. Catwoman could picture her jumping up and down.

“ _Another_ one?” She was going to have to have a serious discussion with Bruce about this sometime in the near future.

_“Yep! Word is, she was Spoiler,”_ Harley stage-whispered.

“ _Cluemaster’s_ daughter?” She almost tripped (like she would ever really).

_“Mm hmm. Could ya get some milk while ya out, kitty?”_ Harley asked.

“Not funny,” Catwoman smirked.

_“Honey,”_ Harley sounded as patronising as someone who regularly tried to lick her own elbow could, _“you don’t know humour like I do.”_

Depends how you define humour, she didn’t say.

*

Two-Face was smiling (at least, half of him was) at the perfectness of the crime he was committing.

He was at a gala full of socialites. It was hosted by Wayne Enterprises in hope to raise money to upgrade Arkham Asylum. The crazy rich helping the crazy insane. Enter: him and his cronies—men and woman he had hired from his time spent in the very same Asylum—guns loaded, taking them hostage. He was both helping and hindering the event—proving that the security _did_ need upgrading, the inmate _did_ need better care; but also guaranteeing that no-one here tonight would donate a dime. A beautiful juxtaposition.

“Your money, your jewellery, your watches,” he ordered, gesturing to his crew to start filling their bags. He scanned the crowd for the host, and saw Bruce Wayne whispering furiously with a few of his children (how many even were there?)

“Don’t worry, Mr Wayne!” He mocked. “I promise I pay my people well! You all are still helping us Arkham folk!”

Wayne glared at him (he wouldn’t have thought the air-head would have it in him).

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I late?” A slightly muffled voice shouted from the entrance.

Two-Face expected to see Robin or Nightwing (Batman would never be so crass), but instead saw …

“Red Hood!” He twitched unhappily. This wasn’t good, wasn’t planned. Red Hood was new on Gotham’s criminal underworld scene, but his reputation already preceded him (judging by the screams let out by some of the socialites, even their sheltered lives had heard of him). The Penguin had complained massively over Red Hood’s swift and violent take over and all his rules, but hadn’t really considered fighting back—he said he’d wait it out, and that is what Two-Face had planned to do as well, before now. “This is _my_ job. I don’t want any help from you.”

“Oh, but you misunderstand me!” Red Hood laughed, spinning a pistol around his finger, causing everyone in the room to flinch. “I’m here on behalf of Batman.”

_“What?”_ Both he and Bruce Wayne hissed. The crowd whispered in confusion amongst itself.

“Y’see, Robin—great kid, I’ll tell ya—‘s got a cold, so Daddy Bats has to stay inside to make him soup, towel his forehead, the works,” Red Hood explained.

_“Oh my God,”_ the eldest Wayne kid looked horrified.

“I don’t know _who_ you think—!” Two-Face started, but was cut off when Red Hood shot him.

_Bam! Bam!_ A bullet in each arm. He appreciated the symmetry.

*

“Riddle me this, Batman!” The Riddler called down to the uncharacteristically lonesome vigilante.

“Until I am measured I am not known, yet how you miss me when I have flown,” he recited.     

“ _Time._ Which you’re out of, mister!”  

He was knocked over by two feet kicking into his back. He hit the floor hard (which, _ow_ ), then rolled over so he could see who attacked him.

“Batgirl!” He accused, but then back tracked. “… I think? Where’s the other one? With the red hair?”

This girl was blonde, and although she could have just died it, this Batgirl was a lot shorter and younger than the one he remembered.

Of course, his confusion had stalled him long enough for Batman to hit him over the head with his own cane.

“Is it cheating, you using their confusion at our roster change against them?” He faintly heard Batgirl ask.

“All’s fair,” Batman grunted back, then Riddler passed out.

*

Poison Ivy was lounging in her favourite spot in Robinson Park when she was approached by Batman and Robin.

“Ivy!” Robin snapped. “I demand you tell us where The Joker is!”

She smiled fondly. What a little snot.

“Why should I know, punk?” She smirked.

“Ivy,” Batman growled before Robin could speak (probably to say something insulting about her clothes), “because of your … relationship with Harley, we thought—“

“That I’d know where that psycho is? _Pfft.”_ She stroked a flower that was leaning into her side. “But Harley _could_ tell you. She’s at her old place in Midtown.”

Batman nodded. “We know it. Thank you, Ivy. Robin, let’s go.”

They both turned to leave.

“Wait!” She called.

“What?” Batman said curtly, and it was wrong, wrong, wrong.

She paused, wondering if she was allowed to joke with these people, whom she had given a lot of grief over the years. Was it her place? She (all of the rouges, really) had watched them grow, develop, evolve, and had done everything she could do to keep up with them.  Together, they had shaped this city into what it was today—for better or for worse. Still, it wouldn’t be right, right? One way to find out …

She took a deep breath.

“You look pretty nifty to me, Bat-Boy,” she grinned ( _where is he?_ she didn’t ask. _Are you going to be okay?_ ).

He paused, tilting his head to the side, then smiled back (she had never seen a smile come from under that cowl).

“Thanks, Lady.”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried out a new style for this (with the brackets) (see what I did there), so please tell me whether you like it or not! Thanks for reading :)


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